


Fem-ris

by omega12596



Series: Duas Meditates [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Humor, M/M, Not A Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:37:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omega12596/pseuds/omega12596
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt on the meme - Fenris becomes a woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fem-ris

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I feel like I have to apologize because Anders just fucked this fluffy, funny piece all up at the end. So it's kind of sad (I made myself cry, FFS, how ridiculous). That said, this is part one of a series - I didn't intend it to be, but there is no way I'm letting Anders dictate where the story ends. Oh no, no, I don't do unhappy forever ends, nope, there's enough of that in the real world, thankyouverymuch!
> 
> Any errors are mine. Hope you readers enjoy it, even with the rather bittersweet (or maybe mostly just sad) end.

One

***

“When you said a pair of lyrium breasts would make life better, Elf, I didn’t think you meant it literally.”

Fenris shot up from the bed and immediately wished he hadn’t. The room spun, his stomach heaved, and he had to sink his hands into the sheets beneath him to keep from pitching over the side and face first onto the floor.

“Whoa, there, lovely. Might want to take a minute or two and let things right themselves.” Isabela’s voice was sultry as ever but laced with real concern.

The elf screwed his eyes shut, willing everything to stop moving and slowly it did. He swallowed hard and eased his lids up, eyes moving from Varric’s worried gaze to Isabela’s sympathetic one. “What happened?”

“I’ll take it from here.” Marian Hawke stepped around the edge of the wall separating Varric’s sleeping area from the rest of his suite. She nodded to the two rogues as they passed her on their way out.

“Hawke?”

She stepped into the room and settled herself at the end of the bed. “Right, so you do remember how I’ve told you, repeatedly, not to touch anything when we go to the Black Emporium? How Xenon is constantly jabbering on about all the weird shit he has?”

“Yes.” Fenris grabbed his throat as the sound finally registered. It was throaty, husky, but _not_ the somewhat gravelly deep baritone he knew.

“Fenris, just look at me, and stay calm. I do not want to have to send you to sleep again.”

Her lovely face was soft with worry, yes, but also stern. Regardless of the magic flowing through her body, Fenris trusted Hawke implicitly. She’d been there for him, without judgment, without condemnation, ever at his back or his side, defending him and fighting with him. Thanks to her, he was completely free of Danarius’ machinations, the chains of his bondage gone, and so he tried to slow his heartbeat and do as she asked, for she asked so little.

“Do you remember going to the Emporium yesterday?”

He nodded. 

“Good, then hopefully you’re memory isn’t messed up, beyond the actual moment it happened.” She sighed, her breath lifting the honey-gold of her bangs against her forehead. “Well, while we were there, you and Anders got in one of your ever-irritating pissing matches about mages and freedom. He told you to mount it, and as best as I recall, you weren’t thrilled with him turning his back on you and walking away. You charged after him, and apparently knocked over the invisible statue of Nude Andraste in Repose. It shattered and well… you were turned into a woman.”

“What!” He winced at the sharp, screeching wail that burst from his lips, but it didn’t stop him from throwing the blankets off and staring down, pushed to the verge of panic as the truth was revealed.

He had breasts, soft, round, pert breasts. His stomach was softer, the muscles not as well defined and with grasping hands he verified what his eyes told him… his prick was gone, replaced with soft, warm lips and little else. “I’m a _woman_!”

“Fenris. Fenris! Calm down. Damn it, elf, **calm down!** ” Suddenly, her hands were on his, drawing them toward her, fingers pressing tight.

The elf was shaking, but managed to stop sputtering and take several deep breaths. After several more minutes, he tugged free of her and drew the bed sheets over his nudity. “Tell me how to fix this, Hawke. Tell me you have some idea how to reverse this _magic_.”

“Not really, no, but thankfully Xenon does and so, in fact, might Anders. I have that blighted mutant skeleton working to find the reversal spell or potion as fast as he can, though he does tend to be a bit attention challenged at times, so I’ve no idea how long that could take.”

“And the Abomination? What of him?” Fenris shuddered just imagining the mage anywhere near him in this state, then cursed beneath his breath because it wasn’t with revulsion.

“Well – shit, why, why does this awkward shit always get left to me?” Marian dropped her head back and muttered something he couldn’t understand beneath her breath. “Okay, I’ll just put it out there and hope you don’t flip your shit. After the smoke cleared and we realized what had happened… Initially, you were unconscious. Anders didn’t know what to do, he was afraid you’d been hurt beyond the physical changes. Then you started to come around, but when you were fully awake, uh, fuck –“

“What? What in the Void happened?”

“You threw yourself at him, alright? Fuck, you just launched yourself off the floor, started speaking in Tevene, and laid a lip lock on him the likes of which I have never seen. In my life, Fenris. It was like you were starving and he was the first food you’d seen in weeks. He was water and you’d been in the desert for days. Anders was a fire and you’d been lost in the snow-“

“Venhedis, I get it!” He flopped back on the bed and flung his arms over his face. “Just kill me now, Hawke. Please, Maker, have mercy and kill me now.”

She was silent for a long time. “I’m really sorry. I thought, we all thought, you hated him, so none of us really knew what the blazes to do. Especially Anders. Especially after he started to respond to you and then Bela and Varric and I had to pull the two of you apart. You were _not_ happy about it. You turned blue, tried to rip out Varric’s heart and I was forced to send you to sleep.”

Fenris just groaned, then cursed when it sounded more like a whine. “It’s his demon I hate. And most of his politics. And his stupid feathered robes.”

“Right. I totally understand that, you know. Merrill and I don’t see eye to eye on much of anything. But I love her more than life itself.”

Fenris didn’t comment, not only because he really didn’t want to say anything more about Anders, but also because he didn’t _know_ what he felt for the Abomination, beyond a desire that had driven him past the point of sanity more than once. And so silence grew again until Hawke shifted her position.

“Anders went to his clinic and the rest of us brought you here. I brought some of Beth’s old clothes for you. They’ll probably be a bit long in the limbs, but you seem close to her size. Varric and Bela will bring you some food while I go check on Anders and see if he has any ideas. You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want, but please don’t go anywhere without someone with you. I, uh, well you were always a damn good-looking elf, but as a female, holy Maker you’re drop dead gorgeous. And since I don’t even know if you can still use that massive sword, I’d feel better if you stayed put. At least for now.”

He felt the unmistakable sensation of tears pricking the backs of his eyes and swore angrily. Stupid female emotional… “Bah! Fine. I’ll stay here for now.”

“We’ll fix this, Fenris, I promise.” She patted his leg beneath the sheets before quietly leaving.

The elf, for his part, rolled onto his side and drew his knees up and willed himself back into unconsciousness. If he was lucky (and he never seemed to be) he’d wake up and this would all have been a very strange, very bad, dream.

 

Two

***

Maker, his hands were still shaking and it had been hours since he’d had Fenris’ lithe body pinned beneath him, two short seconds from freeing his cock and pounding into him… her…

Fuck.

Anders had put out the lanterns. There was no way he could deal with patients in his current state. His mind was whirring with a thousand different thoughts, replaying the last seven years over and over and over again wondering just how, exactly, he’d managed to miss the fact that the elf _wanted_ him. 

Desperately, if Anders Tevene was anywhere near as good as it had been. After all, he’d grown up in the Anderfels, hadn’t been sent to the circle until he was twelve. They’d lived close to the border and his father had sold crops to plenty of Imperial citizens, learning the language had been necessary.

He raked his hands through his hair for the hundredth time, the tie holding his bangs back long since tossed aside, lost amidst the scattered papers, bandages, and empty potions bottles on his small desk. “Shit, I’ve actually slipped into some parallel dimension, a rift in the Fade. This cannot be happening.”

Stumbling to a cot, he fell onto it, trying to bring his thoughts into some semblance of order and bring his body under control as well. Thankfully, his cock was more willing to follow direction than his brain. A bit of a change, really, but he’d take it.

The only upside to the entire insane situation was that Justice was nowhere to be felt. And while part of Anders wished the spirit were still there, the fact that he was gone actually relieved him of a burden he hadn’t wanted to admit until now. He thought about his argument with Hawke just two days prior, how she’d reluctantly agreed to distract the Grand Cleric for him, but they hadn’t had time to go to the Chantry as yet, and he was so relieved he wanted to weep. Overthrowing the Circle had to happen, but planting a bomb… Justice had become Vengeance, Anders a true Abomination, but thanks to a lack of opportunity and the elf’s clumsiness, countless innocents wouldn’t die by his hand.

He didn’t know exactly how or what had thrown Justice from his body and back into the Fade, he only knew it was true. The magical blast that had detonated when Fenris collided with the unseen statue had shifted the Veil, Anders felt that, and perhaps that was all that needed to happen. A hard shove of Justice, straight into the Fade, before everything snapped back into place, leaving a dust cloud and a fully naked, _female_ Fenris in its wake.

The rap of knuckles at the door drew Anders from his thoughts. He ignored it, but the sound came again and again and finally he gave a growl and stormed across the clinic to wrench the door open.

Marian stood there, frowning softly. “May I come in?”

He shrugged and turned away, leaving her to follow him inside. She did so, closing the door behind her, and followed him deeper into the clinic. She paused as they neared his desk and Anders turned to face her. He watched her eyes narrow, then widen.

“Where’s Justice?”

As a mage, it was only a matter of time before she’d notice the sudden lack of the Fade spirit. Anders lifted his hands, looking down at them and wondering how different he would be without Justice’s presence in his body and his life. “In the Fade. Whatever happened to Fenris, it tore the spirit from me, thrust him back where he belongs, I suppose. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel the Veil thin, open.”

Marian scrunched her brow. “I did, but how?”

“I haven’t a clue, but you know what? It’s for the best. I will see the Circle changed, mages given their freedom, but not the way Justice- no Vengeance- planned to do it.”

She relaxed, nodded. “I presume, then, that you won’t need me to distract the Grand Cleric any longer.”

“No. I won’t.” He didn’t want to think about what he’d almost done, so he switched the topic to the reason he assumed she was at his clinic in the first place. “How is Fenris?”

She looked uncomfortable and Anders couldn’t blame her. By the Void, he was uncomfortable. “He’s, damn, what am I supposed to say here, Anders? He’s angry, out of sorts, and apparently mortified to boot. Please, for the love of the Maker, please tell me you have an idea how we might put him back in the right form.”

“I don’t, not yet. But I’m not unfamiliar with situations like this. It actually happened quite a bit in the Circle. Some apprentice would piss off another and find themselves with different apparatus. But most of the time the spells wore off after a few days. Once or twice, reversing the effect was more complicated, but until I know exactly what happened, I can’t begin to make a guess.”

“But you think it _can_ be fixed?”

Anders mulled the question. This wasn’t the first time someone had stumbled into some mess involving Xenon and his antiquities. Each time, Hawke and he, or Xenon, had found a way to put things right again. He nodded. “Yes, I think so. It’s just a matter of finding the solution.”

Marian sagged with relief. “Thank the Maker. Not that Fenris is _bad_ as a girl, but… damn it, what a mess.”

Anders didn’t say anything for a while. “I know it’ll be stressful, but it might help if I could at least look at his brands. I have a feeling they’re a big part of how things went the way they did. I want to see how his new body reacts to magic. It’s possible the lyrium in his body reacted with the spell, in fact now that I think about it, they could be the reason Justice was blown back into the Fade.”

“What are you looking for?”

“If the lyrium is resistant, more so I should say, to magic, it’s possible that whatever has happened will have to be left to run its course. Or worse, it won’t be reversible.”

“And if it doesn’t, then there’s a chance to undo the spell.”

“Right. We should probably talk to Merrill as well. Marethari probably could have helped too, but…” He let his voice drift off. They both knew why the Keeper wasn’t an option.

Hawke frowned but reluctantly agreed. “Alright. I’ll go see her in the Alienage. She's there so often now, teaching the elves here about their history." The woman smiled softly as she thought about the _elvhen_ mage. "Hmm, maybe I should send Sebastian to visit Fenris. He might be able to offer some comfort.”

A sharp flash of jealousy stole Anders breath. _What in the Void?_ He had no reason to care what Choir Boy did with the Elf. Still, the thought of that blighted priestly Prince being anywhere near Fenris set the mage’s teeth on edge.

“Anders?”

“What?” He snapped the words, the struggled to bring his temper under control.

“Are you alright?”

“No! I’m not blighted alright? I was mauled by _Fenris_ for Andraste’s sake. Why would you think I’d be alright with that?” He stormed away from her, tearing at his own hair in frustration.

“Just because it seems his feelings for you weren’t what you, or anyone, thought, doesn’t automatically mean you have to like Fenris. All I ask is that you treat him carefully.” Marian’s voice was soft, a bit apologetic and sympathetic.

He shook his head. If only his feelings were that cut and dried. Closing his eyes, slowing blinking, he settled his emotions and turned back to her. “It’s awkward, but I’ll do my best not to add to the blighted ass’ stress.”

“That’s all I ask. He’s at the Hanged Man and I’ve asked him to stay put. Varric and Isabela are with him now.”

Anders nodded. “I’ll head there shortly. I want to bathe.”

“I’ll see you later, Anders. And thank you. I know this must be as traumatic for you, losing Justice, and everything else. I understand if you need time.”

He looked into her turquoise colored eyes and gave her a small smile. Marian Hawke was a lot of things, but she was probably the best friend he’d ever had first and foremost. “Thanks, Hawke.”

She gave him a little wave and let herself out, leaving Anders with his chaotic thoughts. Hopefully, after a bath and some food, he’d be in a better place to see the elf again.

 

Three

***

“Come on, Fenris, you look fine.”

“I look like a fool, Isabela!” 

He hated this body and its awkward curves and dips. He hated the fact that he could _feel_ the breasts, heavy at the front of his body. He loathed the way the nipples were more sensitive and the way they chafed against the horrible binding Merrill had told him he really should wear. 

Furious, he tore off the blouse and with relish, shredded the breast band to pieces. Then he retrieved his own tunic and pulled it over his head, the cool fabric soothing the hardened nipples. “Now, give me my damn leggings.”

Isabela sighed and handed them to him. “I don’t think they’ll fit.”

“They will stretch some. My ass is not that damn big.” He struggled into them, yes, but sighed with great satisfaction when he got them on and laced. 

Varric gave a low whistle. “Damn Broody, Hawke thought you wouldn’t want to draw attention to your, uh, assets. I’m actually glad you don’t seem to care.”

Fenris hissed at the dwarf. “Shut your mouth, Varric, or I’ll shut it for you.”

The storyteller had the good sense to hold up his hands in surrender. 

The elf turned back to the mirror and shoved at all the white hair he now had to contend with. It fell well past his shoulders, too much of it and too damnably long. Moving his hair out of his face only drew attention to the two things Fenris hated the most about being a _female_ : the fullness of his mouth, its dark pink color drawing attention to the slightly pouty lower lip and the pertness of the upper, and the larger, softer shape of his eyes. They looked, he was so disgusted, they looked sultry, sexy, come-hither was what Isabela called them and he fucking _loathed_ them with every inch of his soul.

Hawke hadn’t been lying, he was ridiculously beautiful as a woman and Fenris wanted nothing more than to hide his face and his body and never leave the dark and dank of his mansion until, or if, someone found a way to put him back to rights.

“I’ve never seen someone so angry to be so lovely before.” Merrill’s voice was soft and gentle, and it grated on Fenris’ nerves something terrible.

“Why would I want to look this way? It invites others to attempt to manipulate me into their beds or worse to try and take what they want from me. I have no idea if I can fight as well as I could with these,” he motioned to his breasts, “bouncing around in my way! _Fasta vass_ this is a nightmare!” He shoved at his hair again and growled, “get me something for this shit!”

Merrill hurried from the room and Varric toddled after her, leaving Fenris alone with Bela. “Maker, Fenris, you might want to try and calm down. We’re all trying to help, but if you keep snapping at us, you’ll be finding answers on your own.” She glared at him and leaned in the door jamb.

Fenris wanted to hit her, but he curled his hands at his sides and instead tried to rein in his anger. He was still Fenris, he felt it, but there were all these other things, _feelings_ that as a male he never really suffered and they were making him feel torn, wrong and right, confused. For the umpteenth time, he felt tears well in his eyes and he bit his tongue to stop them from coming.

“Would you give us a minute, Isabela?”

Anders voice sent panic racing through Fenris. He stiffened, every muscle clenching painfully, and kept his back to the mage. When the sound of the suite’s door closing echoed through the space, he flinched.

“Fenris.”

“I’d rather not talk to you, Abomination.” He wanted to scream when he used that hateful word and his heart stuttered, a painful spike jolting him.

“I’m sure. Good news, though, whatever happened to you sent Justice to the Fade. So, no more Abomination. Maybe now you’ll just stick with mage, in that sneering tone you so love to use.” 

Every word he spoke was like a slap and Fenris struggled not to fall apart. “Fantastic, _mage_. Now, unless you have something I actually want to hear-“

“Listen, this is awkward for both of us. Being an asshole isn’t going to help. I’ve seen this kind of thing before, at the Circle. The sooner you stop sniping, the sooner I can determine if there’s something I can do right now to turn you back.” Anders retort was sharp and filled with disdain.

Fenris shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself. He let silence build for a while before nodding his head, the barest of movement. “Fine.”

“I need you to move over here. Sit on the bed, it’ll be easier.”

The elf did as the mage asked, but kept his head down, the long hair effectively shielding his face. He felt Anders settle close to his side and he shifted away. Being this close to the man made this damnable body react in chaotic fashion, made Fenris long for the previous day when he’d only had a cock to worry about. Cooling an erection wasn’t all that difficult, but the things that happened to the female body when it became aroused, Maker, it was a wonder, a real wonder, how they handled it all. 

The tightening nipples, tingling and aching like small, sensitive penises on his chest. The churning in his belly, the way the muscles tightened up, the way he felt hot all over, but shivery too. And the dull throb between his thighs, the wetness he felt growing there, the way whenever he shifted the seam of his leggings rubbed against something that made him at once more achy and also very pleased. He squirmed just to feel the thrum, the way the walls of his sex clenched on nothing, which only fed back into the crazy loop of sensations running from his lips to his breasts to his crotch and round and round and round…

“Fenris, slow down. You’re going to make yourself black out if you don’t breathe slower.”

Anders hand rubbed across Fenris’ back and he stopped breathing altogether. Maker, help him, the mage was so warm, the feel of his touch soothing and very much not, the sensations shoving Fenris to his feet and away from the human.

“Don’t comfort me.” He ground the words out, hating the thready tone of his voice.

* * *

Anders clenched his jaw and reached for the calm, healing center of his soul. He’d dealt with difficult patients before, and if he just kept reminding himself that’s all Fenris was, maybe he could get both of them through this without any lasting damage.

Maybe. If the blighted elf could learn how to hide his responses better, that was. It might have been ages, but Anders was not so long celibate that he failed to recognize the signs of arousal in a woman. Or a man, for that matter, though men could hide their attraction with careful control and distance. That had been well proven by Fenris himself, since it wasn’t until he’d been made _she_ that Anders had even an inkling the elf was interested in him with carnal intent.

“Andraste’s ass, Fenris! I’m a healer, comfort is what I do. Maker, you’re such a blighted pain in the ass.”

“Then go! I didn’t ask you to come. Just go, mage, go and laugh at how the stupid elf went and made himself a girl. I’m sure it’ll soothe any lasting pains.”

Anders squeezed his eyes closed and counted to ten. Then twenty. He should do exactly what the elf suggested, just leave and pretend it wasn’t his problem. Damn it, why couldn’t he? The mage wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to that question. Female Fenris was clearly out of sorts trying to deal with the plethora of changes, though Anders realized it wasn’t that the elf was _acting_ any differently.

It was more like Anders could feel the turmoil rolling through the other man, _woman_. He gave an irritated grumble and tugged at his ponytail. “Fenris, I’m not going anywhere until I’ve established whether or not your brands have been affected. If they have been, then anything I could do would be moot and we’ll have to wait for Xenon to come up with something.”

“What do the markings have to do with anything?”

“Maybe nothing, perhaps everything. Look, Fenris, I won’t know until you agree to let me investigate. I’ll stop the second anything I’m doing causes you any pain. I swear it. Please.”

With agonizing slowness, the elf made his way back to the bed and settled himself, barely, at the edge of the frame, several inches of space between them. “What do I need to do?”

His voice was so husky, soft in feminine tones. Anders wasn’t sure it was all that much higher pitched, more a womanly equivalent to Fenris’ usual deep baritone. _Stop thinking about his voice and get one with it!_ “If you could push up your sleeve.”

Fenris complied and Anders reached out with both his flesh and his magic. A simple rejuvenation spell should do the trick. If the lyrium snapped back at him like an angry dog, it would be answer enough. Normally, though it tingled a bit irritatingly for Anders, the elf was able to accept this spell reasonably well, barely wincing at all when the magic would pour into him. Only pure healing went better, but whenever he healed Fenris, the elf became agitated.

Anders had asked once if it hurt and he’d received a curt ‘no’ in reply. Since the mage had never figured out exactly what that meant, and in light of recent events, he chose to stay away from strict healing magic, in case it caused a complicated and unwanted reaction.

Closing his eyes, Anders focused on sending the rejuvenation spell into Fenris and lurched a bit in his seat when he felt the brands react forcefully at the first brush of his energy. This was not the normal, no, the lyrium seemed to actively seek out his magic, and the sensation of the streams of ore _caressing_ the power was startlingly potent.

“ _Vishante kaffar!_ ”

Fenris’ voice drilled straight through Anders and the tone was about as far from agitated as the sky was from the Deep Roads. The mage fumbled, actually lost hold of his magic for a minute as he tried to pull back, and saw the brilliant wash of blue-white light behind his closed lids, followed quickly by the vibration of Fenris’ body slipping from the bedside and onto the floor.

Anders yanked his magic back and automatically reached for the elf. “Maker, Fenris, are you alright?”

“No! I’m not alright, idiot _mage_!” The elf was huddled in a ball on the floor, shivering, breathing ragged, and Anders fought the guilt rising in his chest. He’d promised Hawke not to add to the elf’s distress, but it seemed he’d been unable to keep his word.

He hadn’t thought… this wasn’t anything like he’d expected. At best, he’d thought the lyrium veins would react similarly to before; at worst he posited they’d painfully reject his magic. The strange, almost magnetic, reception he’d discovered had Anders at a loss, for words and to explain the phenomena at all. And despite the note of husky surprise, (and not anger), he’d heard in Fenris’ voice, the mage didn’t think whatever the elf felt was all that positive, especially since he’d ended up on the floor in the fetal position.

He had to talk to Xenon and Merrill. The Dalish had rites and rituals the Circle had never heard of, despite the fact the elves had lost much since the fall of Arlathan and the Dales. Perhaps she had some insight.

“I’m sorry, Fenris, I didn’t intend to hurt you. If you give me a minute, I’ll find Isabela to come help you.”

Anders stood and started to move away when long fingers wrapped around his ankle, pulling hard, digging in with strength enough he winced.

“Don’t you dare leave me like this, mage. Fix it, or so help me, I will find a way to extract a most unpleasant revenge.”

“I’m not exactly sure what you want me to do, Fenris. What the hell happened?”

The elf muttered something, and with all that long, white hair completely hiding his face Anders couldn’t even make a guess at what he’d said or how he was feeling.

“Do it again, Anders.”

“That could be a very bad idea, elf.”

Fenris’ signature throaty growl was even more arousing in the contralto tones of his new voice. “Again, mage, now.”

Anders sighed but acquiesced. He watched Fenris’ body curl even tighter into itself, painfully taut, but he kept pouring magic into the elf, muffling a sharp cry when the long fingers around his ankle tightened to the point of real pain. And then he staggered as he felt a reverberated zap of power, like a feedback loop, and Fenris suddenly released him and began to rock slowly in place.

There wasn’t any sound, besides two sets of jagged breathing, but as Anders made his way toward the door of Varric’s suite, he had a much clearer idea what had just happened. But knowing wasn’t better, because if the cycling thrums of energy pulsing through his body now were any indication, this mess with the elf was more complicated than a magical gender swap.

“I’ll be back, Fenris.”

The elf gave a soft murmur and Anders struggled not to hear the satisfaction in the tone.

 

Four

***

“Aw, she-“

“He, Bela. Fenris is still a ‘he’.”

“Fine, _he_ looks so sweet. Not even the least little bit angsty or broody. Damn, he is unbelievably hot.”

Marian just shook her head. The pirate queen really was about the most libidinous individual Hawke had ever met. “Come on, let’s get him back on the bed at least. Anders said he’d be back with Merrill as soon as he could.” She stepped closer to the elf, who slept quietly on the floor, one lyrium-traced arm tucked beneath the delicate arch of cheekbone. “Fenris, Fenris, wake up.” 

“Hmm?” Evergreen eyes blinked open, slowly, a soft smile on a mouth softer, plumper, than the one Marian was used to. “Hawke?”

“It’s me. Well, and Bela. Anders asked us to check on you before he left to find Merrill, about a half-hour ago. Are you alright?” 

* * *

Fenris blinked up at Marian and the first answer he almost gave was something like ‘I’m so much better than alright’. Thankfully, he managed to keep those words to himself, instead sitting up slowly, letting the human help him to his feet. He felt her magic tingle against his skin, but it was nothing like the way Anders power had felt.

“Hawke, will you do me a favor?” His entire body was so relaxed, all he really wanted to do was climb into the bed and snuggle into the plush blankets and drift back to sleep. _Bah, get your shit together, man! Man, remember?_ His inner broody male was not at all pleased with the turn of events, but with the deep, gently arousing warmth still flowing through his body, Fenris just couldn’t seem to care. Much.

“Of course, Fenris, anything you ask. Besides killing Anders, that is.”

He gave a sigh. “Will you cast a spell on me? Not something intended to harm, but maybe rejuvenation or even sleep? I think it would help the mage to know how my brands reacted to magic other than his.”

Marian gave him a worried glance but reluctantly nodded her head. “Alright. Are you ready?”

Fenris nodded. He lifted his brows as he felt her energy touch his markings. The reaction wasn’t like the one he’d had at the ex-Warden’s, but neither was it anywhere as painful as he thought it would be.

“Well, that’s different. Usually I feel a bit of friction between the ore in your skin and my magic, but not so much now. What’s it like on your end?”

Fenris lifted a shoulder as Marian withdrew her power. “Similar. It felt… hmm, scratchy I suppose, not like you were jabbing sharp little hooks over every inch of my skin.”

“Maker, Fenris! If it was that bad, why the Void didn’t you ever tell me?” Those turquoise eyes swirled with a dash of anger but a wealth of hurt and the elf was instantly contrite.

“Hawke, it’s alright. Don’t be upset,” _What in the Void is wrong with you? Shut up!_ , “Your magic was never so painful I would have chosen not to tolerate it.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “In future, Fenris, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t let me hurt you just because you feel like you can take it.”

He cast his eyes toward the ceiling and sighed, again. “Fine.” 

Stretching, Fenris looked at the bed and decided a bit more of a nap really was a good idea. He burrowed beneath the blankets and tugged the pillow until it was tucked beneath his head and upper chest. But when he laid his face against the soft cushion, the overwhelming scent of Varric filled his nose and the elf curled his lip. He didn’t like it at all. He shoved it away and heard Isabela laugh.

“What’d Varric’s pillow do to you?”

Pulling his arms under his head instead, Fenris let his eyes drift closed. “Doesn’t smell right.”

“Leave him be, Bela. You rest, Fenris. I promise it’ll be better soon.” Marian’s voice was warm and soft, caring, as she smoothed a hand over his head. It filled something, a hidden hole Fenris had never dared acknowledge before, and he relaxed into her caress, sleep beckoning.

“Well, really, I mean what would smell right?” Isabela’s cheeky comment drifted through the fog filling his mind.

Fenris didn’t even realize his whispered, “Anders” hadn’t been spoken nearly as quietly as he imagined.

* * *

“Did he just say Anders?” 

Marian tucked several long strands of snow-white hair behind a tapered ear. “Bela, please. By the Maker, this whole thing is problematic enough without you contributing.”

Rivaini snickered, but when she saw the seriousness on Hawke’s face, she relented. “Well damn, take away all my fun why don’t you.”

Marian shook her head with a grin. “As if that could ever happen.” She turned her gaze to watch the very peaceful rest of one of the most tightly wound men she’d ever met. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think Fenris here had been well and truly satisfied.”

“Now that’s a perfectly shivery thought, Hawke.”

She shrugged. “If they’d done that, we’d have known. It would have been written all over Anders face. Still, look at him. I’ve seen Fenris sleep dozens of times, but never this easily, never this serenely.”

“Maybe _Fem_ ris isn’t as interested in being dark and angry all the time as Fenris.”

“I am curious. I can tell he’s still Fenris, but he has to be dealing with all kinds of foreign sensory information. I wonder if his brain is all male, or if the shift in his physical form has mixed up that as well.”

“Considering how he acted earlier, I’d say it has, to some degree. Not that the elf isn’t prone to fits of anger, but they aren’t usually quite so loud.”

Marian nodded. “He did seem rather upset, didn’t he? Still, as frustrating as all this is, he must be at least partially relieved to find everything he knew about himself isn’t the antithesis of what it once was.”

Hawke pulled her hand from the downy soft tendrils and stood. “I suppose we should go see what Varric’s up to.”

Bela wound her arm through Marian’s. “Yes, let’s, and while we’re at it, we should tell him his pillow has an offensive odor.”

“Isabela!”

 

Five

***

“Tell me once more, what exactly happened.”

Anders tried to choke back his irritation. This was the third time he’d gone over the events with Fenris, from the beginning. He looked at Merrill, the Dalish busily scanning pages in a massive magical text. “Which part? Or all of it?”

“The Emporium.”

“We were arguing and really, I’d had enough. I stormed away from him and I suppose he followed. I think he said something about not turning my back on him. Then there was a shockwave of magic, it thinned the Veil and I felt Justice torn out of me. Then I heard the explosion, the sound of it, and I was snapped back into the mortal realm, without Justice.”

He stopped and paced the short length of Merrill’s sitting room.

“Continue.”

“There was smoke everywhere and I couldn’t see anything, but then I heard him calling my name, it sounded panicked, or scared, something. It was like I could feel where Fenris was, so I knelt down and started reaching through the fog. I found him as the air started to clear and that’s when I realized he wasn’t a he, but a she. I don’t know, I must have looked at him in shock, but then he, she, damn it, do I really have to go through this again?”

“I know it’s not pleasant, but I need to know, Anders.”

“Fuck. Fine. He threw himself at me, all arms and legs and voracious mouth. I didn’t know how to react, at first, but then, shit,” he looked down at his hands, saw they were beginning to shake and he curled them into fists. “It was like a rush and all I wanted, everything I’d ever needed was _Fenris_. I was fighting my robes and his armor, trying to rip our clothes off, I had to be _inside_ him, the pounding relentless need was driving me mad! Then Bela and Varric grabbed hold of me, pulled us apart, and Hawke sent us both to sleep.”

“I think I have an idea, but you aren’t going to like it.” The little Dalish woman closed the tome and sat back in her chair.

“If you tell me Fenris is stuck as a woman, I won’t be the only one unhappy.”

“No, I don’t really have any idea about that. I mean about Justice.”

Anders dropped into the chair nearest her. “I’m all ears.”

“Well, I think you’re right and Fenris’ brands altered the spell. You said there was an explosion of some kind, and I think maybe when the spell went off, it caused his power to react, to surge and since you were the closest to him, you were the one who was caught in the tide. I think in that moment, when Fenris’ physical body was transforming, his spiritual one was shoved to the end of its tether and into you.”

“How?”

“Because he can exist part in the Fade and part not. When that happened, when he, oh, what does Hawke call it? Oh, yes, phased. When he phased, or part of him phased, into you, it forced Justice out of you. But when he became she, when the actual spell was completed, his soul was jerked back, which sealed the hole in the Veil, but it also happened too fast for Justice to get back in. Does that make sense?”

Anders just looked at her, gaping. He had absolutely no idea Merrill was even remotely so well versed in magic. “Surprisingly, yes.”

She gave him a frown. “You don’t have to look at me so oddly. I’m not stupid.”

“Merrill, come on, you blithely used blood magic! That doesn’t exactly scream smart.”

His words only served to anger her more. “And you took a spirit inside you and thought _that_ was a good idea. Even I knew better than to do such a ridiculous thing.”

Anders pride pricked at that, but good, however she was right. “Point taken. Alright, so I think you’ve explained what happened to Justice, now if we-“

“That’s not all, Anders. I’m pretty sure there’s a bit of Fenris still in you.”

“What?!”

She nodded, utterly serious. “Of course. His spirit displaced the Fade borne you were harboring, it only makes sense that a bit of him got stuck, attached I suppose, on the way back out. My people used to have a binding ceremony that did something similar. Here, look.” 

She heaved the great tome open and sorted pages until she came to the one she wanted Anders to see. He looked down at it, couldn’t make heads of tails of the words, but the depictions he could understand. “Maker, no.”

“I don’t think what happened is this complete. But it does explain the feeling you experienced.”

Anders felt sick. It explained more than how he’d reacted in the Emporium. It explained how he knew Fenris was all sorts of jumbled up even though outwardly the elf didn’t show it. Her reasoning also made it impossible for the ex-Warden to pretend what he’d felt, before he left the Hanged Man to seek out Merrill, was anything other than exactly what he thought it was.

“This cannot be happening. I cannot be magically tethered to that blighted elf!”

“Anders?”

“How do I reverse it? How do I get this piece of Fenris out of me, Merrill?”

“You can’t, Anders. Even if you could recreate exactly what happened in the Emporium, the only thing that can phase is Fenris, which would likely only cause more of him to become part of you.”

Anders head fell back and he looked up at the ceiling. He’d gotten rid of Justice only to have a lingering piece of an ex-slave who hated magic with every fiber of his being lodged in his soul. What a perfectly ironic punishment. A spike of alarm jerked the mage upright.

“What about me, Merrill? Would Fenris have a piece of me, as well?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. May I?” She made a motion with her hands and he nodded.

Green fire rolled over her hands and she moved her palms over his body, from the crown of his head, down toward his chest. “Ah, well, yes. But only a little.”

“Which explains why his brands were so attracted to my magic.”

“It’s not so bad, Anders. Really. The two of your aren’t inextricably linked or anything. In fact, neither of you will probably notice much difference at all. In this ritual,” she tapped her finger on the page, “the two people are bound for life. They feel each other’s pain, know each other’s thoughts, when one dies so does the other.” She sounded wistful and Anders couldn’t help but glare at her.

“Lovely. It’s a wonder the Dalish don’t still use the ritual.”

“Oh, the spell is here, it’s the knowledge of how to use it that we lost. I think it’s rather romantic.”

“Right, all the way until your partner is carted off and sold into slavery.”

She frowned and it was a very sad turn of her lips. “Well, that’s probably why we don’t do it anymore. And because we don’t know how, that too.”

“Are you absolutely certain there’s no way to undo this?”

“Xenon might know something, but I’m sorry Anders, as far as I know the only way to undo it would be for you or him to die. If that happens, the little piece of the survivor would return to its original home.”

“Great.”

They sat in an awkward silence before Merrill shifted and cleared her throat. “If I could ask, Anders?”

“Yes?”

“What’s it like?”

He sighed and scrubbed his face. “I can feel his emotions. So far, it’s really faint, I only get a clear sensation if he’s… wound up. It certainly isn’t anything like what you described, thank the Maker.”

“And Fenris?”

“I don’t know, Merrill. You’d have to ask him.”

“Oh, do we keep calling him ‘him’ then? I wasn’t sure.”

Anders chuckled. “Unless Fenris says otherwise, yes, I’d say we do.”

“That’s good then. I don’t want to upset him anymore than I already did. He was very distraught, it was unsettling. He’s always so cold and hard.”

The ex-warden didn’t respond, though he agreed. Rubbing his hand over his chest, he sought his essence with his own magic and tried not to panic when he found what Merrill already had. There, in the center of his spirit was a tiny, flicker of foreign mana, so tightly wedged in that if Anders hadn’t known it wasn’t meant to be there, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed. 

Worse, with every pulse of his heart, that piece became more and more powerfully ingrained. Anders closed off his magic and dipped his head, knowing as time went on that flutter of Fenris would be such a perfect part of him that eventually there’d be no way to distinguish it from his own soul. His mortal enemy, forever apart of his immortal self.

“We should go back to the tavern. I told Hawke I’d bring you back.”

“Alright then.” Merrill chirped breezily, as if she didn’t notice at all how ruined Anders felt.

He snorted to himself. Bless her, she probably didn’t. Despite her flaws, Anders could see why Marian loved the elf to such distraction. She was about the sweetest creature he’d ever met.

“Are you coming, then?”

Anders blinked his eyes open and stood. “Right behind you, Merrill.”

 

Six

***

One week later and Fenris couldn’t take another minute in this blighted body. He rinsed the soap from his chest, hissing as the cold water made his nipples hurt. Damn it, he’d never had to worry about _that_ before, which of course only pissed him off more.

 _If one of those fucking mages doesn’t figure something out, I’m going to lose my mind._ He sneered at himself as he finished bathing, gritting his teeth the whole way. As he stepped from the small tub, Fenris swore he was going to get Hawke to put in one of those blighted runes so he could have heated water. He was sick of suffering just to be clean.

He quickly rubbed himself dry and headed to his bedroom and was startled by the package on his bed. Warily he crossed to it, ears alert, eyes scanning the room for evidence of who had left the thing for him. He saw nothing and heard less, still he tugged the package open carefully, just in case.

A note was pinned to a cream colored tunic that looked clean, but well worn. He tugged the parchment free. It took him a few minutes to make out the sprawling, curved penmanship.

“I thought this might put you in a better mood. No need for thanks. Isabela.” He looked from the tunic to the letter and wondered what in the Void the pirate was up to this time.

Lifting the thing by one finger, he looked it over with a discerning eye. It was clearly too big for this form, likely too big in his previous one. Thinking to toss it away, Fenris stopped when the smell of elfroot and ozone and masculine heat wafted on the air.

 _Anders._ He shuddered and buried his face in the fabric before logic could take hold. It smelled so good, Fenris groaned and breathed as deeply as he could, stomach quivering, little nipples tightening into aroused points, the damnable pulse between his legs giving a throbbing demand.

He hated Isabela so much then, trapped in the fog of desire, and he wanted to thank her profusely just the same. Hands and arms shaking, he drew the tunic over his head, settled it against his body and moaned. He could smell the mage all over him and it made Fenris dizzy. Dropping onto his bed, he rolled around like a kitten with yarn, a stupid smile on his face.

Rolling to his back, he closed his eyes and did something he’d refused to do for the last seven days. He lifted the fingers of one hand and touched the rock hard tips of his breasts, chafing the cloth over the sensitive buds, pressing his thighs together tightly as the sensation traveled from his chest and down, lighting every nerve ending along the way.

Fenris brought his other hand up, losing himself in the erotic pulse of this body, and pinched the other nipple, gently at first, then harder, until he made himself cry out, felt moisture slip from the lips of his new sex. Oh, Maker, having a cock was never like this, stroking it never made his entire body come alive with need. A prick was a focused thing, the need there sharp, insistent, hard like the organ and rampant.

But a woman’s desire, Andraste it was an altogether different animal. And as Fenris changed the pressure of his touch, teased his nipples until both of his breasts seemed to throb with the need for something else, he knew once he managed to reclaim his rightful form, this would be his one regret.

Admittedly, he couldn’t remember having any lovers before the brands and he’d had none since. So there was a chance that sex between two men could be as heady, but from what little personal experience he had pleasing himself, he wasn’t sure. Masturbating had never been this good before.

He pulled both nipples and felt his hips lift from the bed. Biting his lower lip, Fenris drew one hand toward the place between his legs, breath heaving as he slipped a single finger between the swollen, wet cleft. The pad of his digit stroked over a tiny bump of flesh and he moaned, loudly. Feeling jittery, he repeated the motion and felt the muscles inside his pussy draw tight.

“Fuck.” The expletive was harsh in the quiet of his room, but he did not care. The only thing that mattered was pushing, rolling, rubbing that button of nerves as many different ways as possible until he found a motion that made his eyes roll back and his whole body shake every time he did it.

He thought he heard his name, wished it was Anders calling out, and suddenly his imagination took hold. The mage would know what to do with this body, so much better than Fenris did. After all, he hadn’t even touched him suggestively, had only rolled magic over his skin and Fenris had been practically comatose from pleasure overload after the orgasm had shaken him a bit senseless.

Remembering the way it felt, how long the ecstasy lasted, how wet and satisfied he’d been after the fact, made Fenris writhe on the bed. He needed more, something more damn it. The end was so close, he was panting for it, could almost see it behind his closed lids. Unsure where to go from here, how to reach the pinnacle on his own, Fenris abandoned the nipple to shove one hand deep in his hair, while he rubbed and swirled the fingers of the other faster, harder.

“Maker, please!” He rolled to his side, hand pinned between his legs, sex absolutely pounding with need, breasts painfully sensitive under the cover of Anders shirt. A sob wrenched from him and Fenris pulled at his clothes, burying his face in the tunic, taking in the scent of the mage’s body, rocking against his fingers as he fought to come.

But he couldn’t force himself over, it was a lost cause. Something was missing and Fenris didn’t know what it was. Growling in frustration, he pulled his hand from between his legs and curled into a ball, trying to slow his breathing and his heart as he waited for the desire to fade. It could be a long wait, he knew, and suddenly he wished he’d never touched himself. He certainly never felt so awful when he’d been interrupted having a wank.

“Anders.” He wanted the blighted mage so badly it felt like he was dying. _Blighted, ridiculous, female…_

* * *

Anders had torn off his robes and stepped out of his boots before his better sense had pulled him up by the short hairs, so to speak, and slammed the brakes on the crazed, almost feral need riding him hard. He’d come to tell Fenris that Hawke said Xenon sent her a letter, that maybe they’d found a way to reverse his metamorphosis.

What he’d discovered was Fenris, wearing his shirt – the one he’d thought a patient had stolen, his favorite tunic to boot – and pleasuring himself with abandon. The feminized version of the elf was absolutely wanton, fingering her hairless pussy, twisting those tiny nipples fiercely, hips thrusting, moans coming fast and loud.

He’d stopped himself a few short feet from the bed when Fenris had given a loud whimper of near-pain and rolled to his side, clearly close to the end, but unable to crest the peak. His conscience sat up then, screamed at him for even thinking to take advantage of the situation, but even the feeling of guilt coursing through him only managed to barely leash the animalistic drive he felt to mount Fenris and fuck him stupid.

Lifting a shaking hand to his hair, Anders struggled to keep his breathing as close to silent as possible as he backtracked from the room, gathering his discarded clothes. He’d made it almost to the door when the blighted elf up and took all his good intentions and set them on fire.

“Anders.” His name, whimpered and heavy with need, snapped the mage like dry tinder beneath a boot.

He growled in response and threw his things to the floor, damn near running to the bed. Grabbing Fenris’ shaking body, Ander heaved the elf onto his back and slammed his body over the small, feminine shape. 

“Damn you.”

He didn’t even bother to temper his desire. Anders covered Fenris' mouth with his own, sucked in his gasp of surprise as he plunged his tongue deep into the warm, open mouth, groaning at how good the bastard tasted, how wild he went under Anders weight, fingers tangling in the mage’s hair, legs wrapping around the ex-Warden’s waist, heels digging deep into his ass.

For his part, Anders drove his own hands into the silken strands of pure white bounty flowing from Fenris’ scalp, using sharp pulls to tip the elf’s head back, giving Anders access to the long, sensual neck, tongue dancing over lyrium and sweet, smooth skin, teeth nipping, then biting, sucking. He was out of his mind, he had to taste every inch of Fenris, had to feel those delicate nails digging furrows in his back, wanted to hear him scream Anders’ name.

“Fuck, get this off!” Anders reared away, roughly pulling and tugging until his tunic was gone and Fenris was laid bare, all golden skin and lyrium veins and supple, beautiful, stunning perfection. “Maker, you’re ethereal. Utterly gorgeous, Fenris.” He traced a hand from the slim throat, over the collarbone, down between two perfect tits, the dark red-brown nipples begging for his mouth, his fingers.

Anders couldn’t disappoint them, dropping onto his forearms he took the first between his teeth, gently, teasing the point with the tip of his tongue, cock jerking when Fenris wrenched his hair and pressed his breast harder against Anders lips. He smiled against soft skin and scraped his teeth over the bud in his mouth before opening wider and sucking hard, taking as much of the pert flesh into his mouth as he could.

“Anders!” Fenris was uncontrolled, hips pitching, hands clawing and the surge of masculine dominance Anders felt in response was frightening in its intensity. 

Maker, he’d never imagined the elf was so responsive, might give himself up to sensation with pure abandon. Fenris held himself so tightly, had such total control, Anders was dizzy watching the elf come undone beneath his mouth and hands.

“What do you want, Fenris?” He hardly recognized his voice, it was so guttural.

Fenris shook his head, eyes squeezed closed, whimpering almost non-stop. Anders thrust his hips against the hot and unmistakably wet heart of the elf and was rewarded with the elegant arch of his spine and an open mouthed groan.

“Tell me, Fenris.” Another roll of his hips, and the body beneath him heaved upward in a demand as old as time.

Anders took that open mouth, sucking the lower lip, plunging his tongue inside, nipping at the chin. He took the breast he’d yet to touch into the palm of one hand, rolling and pressing the nipple, squeezing it between the nails of his thumb and first finger and watched the breath stall in Fenris’ chest, felt the muscles of his stomach and thighs contract and release.

The elf was so close, hovering at the edge, and in that moment Anders felt him, felt the bit of connection between them flood with sensation and he managed only by the smallest measure to avoid falling headlong into the abyss. Fenris’ entire body was a living, fiery mass of need, and Anders lungs bellowed as he tried to breathe under the onslaught. Maker, he could come from those vibrations alone.

“Fenris, open your damn eyes and tell me what you want.” 

The way his voice affected the elf… Anders had to bite his tongue to keep from moaning. He held his body perfectly still and waited, silently commanding the elf to open his damned eyes and speak.

Finally, Fenris groaned and his forest green eyes came into view. His gaze was unfocused, but he met Anders own and licked his lips. “Make me come, Anders. Please.”

Really, the elf could have asked him anything in that voice and the mage would have been hard pressed to deny him. Still, the words were as good as an electric prod, and Anders lifted away only long enough to rip the loose pants from his body before returning to the elf, spreading his legs wide, and bringing their pelvises into contact.

Anders didn’t look away from those deep green orbs as his pushed his cock into the most welcoming cunt he’d ever had the pleasure of sinking into. Fenris was almost painfully tight and obscenely, erotically wet. The elf whimpered, bit his pouty lower lip, neck arched, head dug into the pillow beneath his head. Anders reached for his hands, brought those long, sleek fingers to his own chest, grunting when Fenris dug his nails in and tilted his hips, his body relaxing, accepting more of the mage’s prick.

“It burns.” Fenris twitched and Anders drew his hands around the tiny waist just above the heaven he was filling.

“Shh, love, I know. Just a bit more and I promise I’ll make it better.” Holy Maker, Anders was inundated with the need to ease Fenris’ pain, to take away any hurt his possession might inflict on the precious being in his hold. 

He had completely lost his mind, the warm feelings warring in his chest with the primitive desires to claim, conquer, to mark. He didn’t know what the fuck was happening to him but as he sank that final inch into Fenris’ untouched body, Anders realized he absolutely did not care, not then. All he wanted, all he needed was the elf, under him, over him, around him and the rest of Thedas did not matter.

Fully seated, Anders pressed his palm over the place where they joined and sent a cool pulse of healing magic into Fenris. The elf responded by contracting around him, hips surging upward, guttural moan tearing from his throat.

“Anders, Anders, again, do it again.”

He gave a dark laugh and tugged those long legs up, resting Fenris’ heels against his shoulders. “Soon enough, Fenris.”

And with a care and gentleness the wild hunger inside him raged against, Anders began to move, with each thrust the mage lost himself more and more in not just the body, but the spirit of a man he’d too long tried to hate.

* * *

He was going to die, he knew he was going to die. There was no way anyone could survive this much pleasure, this much agonizing need. Fenris thrashed beneath Anders, trying to force the mage to give him something, anything to stop the horrible, wonderful pulsing in his breasts, between his legs, in the tips of his fingers and toes.

“Fenris, open your damn eyes and tell me what you want.”

He didn’t want to open his eyes, wasn’t sure he could. His entire world was Anders, the smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of all that lean, lithe power against his body. But the mage had stilled, _no, no, no, don’t stop!_ and so Fenris struggled to open his eyes and give Anders the words he seemed to want so badly.

“Make me come, Anders. Please.”

It was enough, finally, and the mage left him, briefly, the heat of his bigger body shifting until Fenris felt the naked head of Anders’ cock between his thighs. The elf wanted to scream as his body was breached, Maker it hurt, but it was so wonderful too, and Fenris surrendered, tried to relax, to let Anders in.

“It burns.”

“Shh, love, I know. Just a bit more and I promise I’ll make it better.”

He bit his lip and arched his neck and felt a warmth unlike anything he’d known spread through him, from the middle of his chest and outward. Everything was so _right_ , so many years of longing forgotten as Anders pressed home, deep inside Fenris. When he felt the rush of healing magic, pain fled and pleasure roared back, and the elf responded by digging his fingers into the compact muscles of the mage’s chest and lifting his pelvis, seeking deeper contact and…

“Anders, Anders, more. Do it again!”

The mage said something, but Fenris couldn’t hear it over the roar of his own heart as Anders began to move. Out, slowly, while his lips and the coarse hair on his chin rubbed against the sensitive arch of Fenris foot. Then in, strong human fingers tightening around his ankles, holding the elf still until balls met ass.

Out again, this time Anders settling back, knees spreading to make room for Fenris hips. The elf’s legs sprawled over the mage’s elbows, his body waiting to be directed by the other man, breath shuddering when Anders pulled him onto his cock once more, all the way out, back in, then out.

Maker, the sound, the sound of hard cock slipping into wet pussy only heightened Fenris’ senses. It was erotic, sensual, intimate yet ephemeral. Still, even filled with Anders, soon it wasn’t enough. His body was drawn tight, needy, so much more aroused than it ever had been before, but Fenris knew he needed more.

Heaving beneath the mage, he plunged down on that thick cock, wrapped his legs around Anders waist, and using the powerful muscles in his back and stomach, lifted himself until he was sitting in the mage’s lap. Fenris opened his eyes, wrapped his arms around Anders neck and crashed their mouths together.

 _Yes, yes, yes!_ The mage responded with a hard thrust of his hips, powerful hands gripping Fenris’ ass hard as together they raised and lowered the elf, faster, deeper, every penetration sharper, less careful and more untamed. The elf didn’t stop kissing Anders, didn’t stop tasting his mouth and his jaw and his neck, pausing only long enough to whimper or cry out or beg for more, always more.

“I want to come, Anders. Please, more!”

Fenris felt something snap between them, not apart but into place and Anders growled against his mouth, shifting their bodies one last time, shoving the elf onto his back, forcing Fenris’ knees nearly onto Anders broad shoulders as the mage lost himself in the body beneath him. His pelvis pounded against Fenris’ ass, his thick, granite cock slamming deep over and over and over until Fenris couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think beyond the knowing that he was going to scream the mage’s name when he came.

And he did, at the very top of his lungs, toes curling, stomach contracting almost as hard as his slippery, virgin pussy clamped down around the mage’s cock. Fenris fought to keep Anders deep inside him, wanted nothing more than the mage forever filling, not only the elf's body, but the place deep within, where Fenris was most vulnerable. The hidden core where he was at once weak and unbelievably strong.

“Anders!”

The mage echoed his cry and masculine release filled Fenris to overflowing, but still they ground together. He could feel every jerk, every pulse of Anders' cock, the heat of his come welcome, perfect. The elf dug his fingers in hard enough to draw blood, he was certain, as his body convulsed, sweet, precious oblivion washing away everything but the ecstasy.

By all the gods, Fenris had never felt pleasure so intense in his life, so powerful it ripped the memory of being branded from its place deep in his psyche and supplanted the joy of this mating in its stead. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that could ever be so good again and with one last gasp, one final shudder, Fenris let go the bonds of consciousness, an utterly sated smile frozen on his lips.

* * *

Anders shook, vision blurred as he watched to lovely, sublime smile curve Fenris’ lips a moment before the elf went limp beneath him. The muscles of his lower back spasmed, his buttocks clenching as his cock spilled yet more seed into the hot channel that still fluttered around his length.

He sagged against Fenris, pressed his forehead to the elf’s, and tried to put the world back together. Unlike the body tangled with his, Anders was no virgin. He’d had sex fifty ways from Satinalia, but if someone asked, he’d be hard pressed to remember a single encounter that left him the shell he was now.

Was it the antagonism? He’d heard plenty of mages claim fucking Templars was so much better than doing likewise with other mages because the hate made the act hotter. Anders had no idea about that, since the only times he’d been with Templars, he hadn’t had any choice. And when he had chosen lovers, he certainly hadn’t had any sort of intense dislike for them beforehand.

And despite how deeply he loathed Fenris’ opinions on magic, he didn’t actually hate the man. Found him unbelievably irritating, yes. Hypocritically bigoted, most definitely, but part of Anders understood where the elf’s poisonous animosity for magic and its wielders sprouted from and it was a place Anders was quite familiar with himself.

Being forced to live under the choking, pressing rule of another, never having the option to choose for oneself, never being treated like a living thing, Anders knew those feelings well. So no, in spite of how angry he got with Fenris, he never hated him. He empathized with the elf, in the beginning he’d even pitied the ex-slave a little, later he’d been more angry and disappointed than anything.

Looking down at his serene face, though, Anders didn’t know what he felt. The sex had been… there wasn’t even a word to describe how amazing it was. But there was more between them, these bits of soul they had of each other, and the mage wasn’t sure what to do. Great sex didn’t just unmake the past seven years of acrimony, not even knowing the elf hadn’t ever hated him either. 

Their personal beliefs were just too far apart. There was no way Fenris would ever believe mages should be free to make their own decisions, their own mistakes, their own lives. And there was no way Anders could be with someone who thought a fluke of birth should render him a puppet to be directed as his masters saw fit.

Body incredibly tired and uncoordinated, Anders gently extracted himself from Fenris’ hold. The elf pouted but rolled to his side, curling one hand beneath his cheek and the mage rose and quickly dressed. He glanced at his tunic, tossed to the floor in passion, and thought about taking it with him, but the ache the idea formed in his chest made his mind. Leaning down, he retrieved the top and carefully tucked it near the elf’s face, before he drew the bed clothes up to cover Fenris’ naked form.

Fighting himself the entire way, Anders quietly left Fenris’ home and made his way back to the clinic. It was better for everyone if what happened between he and the elf became a slice of time out of time, a perfect memory tucked away, taken out to admire on the darkest of nights, in the loneliest spaces.


End file.
